


Better than Pie

by WinJennster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Batcave, Birthday Fic!, Flour fight, Gen, M/M, Pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinJennster/pseuds/WinJennster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean teaches Cas how to bake an apple pie.<br/>Birthday ficlet for frecklesarechocolate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better than Pie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frecklesarechocolate (onlybritainisgreat)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=frecklesarechocolate+%28onlybritainisgreat%29).



“Today, Cas, I am going to teach you how to make the world’s most perfect food.”

Dean makes this declaration as he sets a large bowl of apples on the stainless steel island in the middle of the Batcave’s industrial kitchen.

“Pie is perfect. It’s tasty, of course, and not as arrogant and stuck up as cake…”

“How can cake be arrogant?”

“It just can. Now where was I? Oh yeah, it’s not as arrogant as cake, it can be sweet or savory, hell even both sometimes,  and you can load it with fruit or veggies and tell _CERTAIN HEALTH OBSESSED LITTLE BROTHERS_ that it’s _GOOD FOR THEM_!”

“JERK!” comes the retort from somewhere in the library.

“BITCH!”

Cas tilts his head curiously at Dean, as he pulls a large Granny Smith from the bowl.

“Today, we are making the classic, perfect, sweet, juicy apple pie. As American as baseball, fireworks, and Chevrolet.”

“Actually, the Asians invented fireworks and Chevrolet is a French name…”

“Whatever! It’s American to me!”

Castiel nods his head, “Of course, Dean.”

“Anyway, first thing to do is get rid of the peels, ‘cause seriously, peels don’t cook down, and the apples get all nice and yummy, but then you bite into a peel and it’s just like enngh.”

“Ok.” Cas retrieves an apple as well, and a knife from the table top.

“Wait, I have to show you how to peel it…” Dean trails off, as Cas deftly whips his knife around the apple, removing the majority of the peel in one long neat piece. “…or not.”

Castiel smiles at Dean, and sets the apple on the cutting board. “Is this what you wanted?” he asks pleasantly.

“Ahh, yeah, that’s um, that’s perfect.”

He is not getting turned on over a damn apple.

“So, um, why don’t you go ahead and peel five more, and I’ll just cut them up.” Because that won’t require talking and Dean won’t have to worry about anymore stuttering weirdness falling out of his mouth. He can just chop this apple up and not think about how nice Cas’s hands look holding that knife, whipping it around the apple, peel falling away in a long curl, and he won’t think about what else those hands could do, how those fingers would feel running down his spine, or brushing along his jaw, or…

Dean winces as he nicks the edge of his thumb with the knife he’s using.

“Ow! Sonuvabitch!” A bright bead of blood wells up on the side of his thumb, and he shoves it into his mouth.

Cas is around the table in an instant, gently pulling Dean’s hand out of his mouth, and examining the side of his thumb. He takes a cloth and presses it against the cut, pulling it away to check the damage.

“It’s ok, it’s not that deep. It should clot and seal itself shortly.”

Dean looks up, eyes meeting Cas’s, incredibly aware of the fact that the former angel is still holding his hand.

His lips are so pink, Dean thinks, his eyes are so incredibly blue, surely he’s noticed this before, how beautiful his best friend is. He wonders what would happen if he just leaned forward slightly, just tipped his head forward, and pressed his lips to Cas’s. What would happen? Would the world explode? Would he explode? What are they doing here anyway?

“I’ve peeled the apples, are you going to cut them up?”

Dean leans back against the table for a second, steadying himself and catching his breath. “Um, yeah, yeah, I’ll do that.”

It’s quiet in the kitchen for the next few minutes, as Dean slices the apples, and he’s grateful for the reprieve, using the silence to get himself squared away, to get his get his mind out of the _things we aren’t supposed to be thinking about_ lane, and back onto the pie-making highway.

“Ok,” he says, much more confidently than he feels, as he dumps the cutting board full of apple slices into a large bowl, “time to add all the other good stuff!”

Cas watches attentively as he dumps lemon juice, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, black cardamom, cloves, ginger, and a splash of Old No.7 into the bowl with the apples, using a wooden spoon to toss it all to combine.

“That’s done,” he says as he sets the bowl aside, pulling another large bowl towards him, “time to start the crust.”

Again, Cas watches as Dean carefully measures out flour, shortening, and salt. “Ok, come over here, you’re going to do this part.” He hands Cas a pastry blender, a weird looking multi-tined operation with a wooden handle. “Work this thing up and down in the bowl until all that stuff is combined and looks like peas.” He sees the confusion cross Cas’s face. “Well, not green, not just like peas, but you know, pea-shaped.”

“I see.”

Dean watches as Castiel carefully combines the ingredients with the tool. “Ok, that looks great. Now we add four tablespoons of ice water, mix it all up, and boom! Pie dough!”

Cas continues to blend the ingredients as Dean adds the water, and it’s not long before they have a perfect ball of pie dough. Next, he shows Cas how to roll it out, line the pie plate, add the apple filling, and put the top crust on.

“That looks lovely,” Cas says happily, admiring his and Dean’s work.

“Yup, and it’ll taste even better,” Dean grins, and he slides the pie into the oven. He looks around the kitchen, a rueful expression on his face. “Now, we clean up while we wait.”

Castiel nods, and runs a hand through his hair.

Dean stares at him a moment, bursting into laughter.

“What is so funny?” Cas asks him grumpily.

“You’ve got flour all over your hair!” Dean chuckles.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s hysteri…” Dean’s caught by surprise as a handful of flour hits him right in the face. “What the hell?” He looks at Cas, and the fallen angel has the most mischievous look twinkling in his blue eyes.

Dean grins, reaching into the canister for his own handful of flour. “So that’s how it’s going to be?”

Cas nods, a smirk on his lips.

A few minutes later, they are both laughing so hard they can barely breathe, and Dean thinks Castiel’s laughter might be the best sound he’s ever heard.

There’s flour everywhere, literally everywhere, and a second later, Dean finds out just how slippery flour on a tile floor can be, as he lunges forward to pelt Cas with another handful of the white powder, losing his balance in the process. Cas tries to stop his fall, and ends up going down with him, and they find themselves chest to chest, a tangle of limbs, in the middle of the kitchen, flour making a cloud in the air around them.

Looking up into Cas’s flour covered face, Dean acts without thinking, wrapping a hand around Cas’s neck, pulling him in for a long, sweet kiss. The other man seems surprised at first, but quickly responds, pressing his lips to Dean’s enthusiastically. He tastes like flour, and something sweeter, but most of all, he tastes like _Cas_.

They lose track of time, then someone loudly clears their throat.

“Having fun guys?” Sam asks, taking in the wrecked kitchen and the pair on the floor with little more than a raised eyebrow. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, opens it and takes a long sip, ignoring his older brother’s squirming discomfort.

“Make sure you guys clean this mess up,” he chides, leaving the kitchen. “And it’s about damn time, jeez.”

Dean smiles.

This is way better than pie.


End file.
